Dance With Me
by dragoon811
Summary: Hermione and Severus have worked together, developed a friendship; and guarded themselves too long. Hogwarts has decided to meddle...(Rated M for a reason, folks.)


**Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, the world, or the characters therein. That belongs to our wonderful Queen, JK Rowling, whose only error was in recording the false death of one Severus Snape.**

**Author's Note: **Go blame I M Sterling for this plot bunny, damn it. Also, rated M for a reason.

* * *

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Blushing, Hermione picked up the towel she'd dropped upon entering the rarely-used Teachers' Bathroom. Oh, god...what was Severus doing in here?

Well, preparing to bathe, obviously, and she averted her eyes from the gape in his robes. The last thing she needed to do was dampen her knickers solely at the sight; it was hard enough trying to befriend the surly man without revealing her feelings, and she didn't want him to flee. Even his friendship was a treasure to her; every hour, every minute in his company a balm, and Hermione had no intent to ruin it with 'female flights of fancy' or 'hormonal urges'.

But, heaven have mercy, the man had a nice chest – pale, a tantalizing amount of black hair...

He scowled, jerking his robe closed. "I _was _going to take a bath, seeing as how Myrtle has decided that my bathroom is more desirable than her own at the moment, and I refuse to disrobe in front of a student, regardless of her life signs - lack thereof."

"Oh, well..I – I can leave. Sorry. I just...it's Friday, and in the summer I always, oh bugger, I'm going, I'm sorry, Severus..." Thank god she'd dropped her towel and not her shower kit; it wouldn't do for him to see everything she had brought along.

"Cease prattling, woman." His voice was curt. "There are showers 'round the bend. You may indulge in your bath, and I shall complete what it is I came in here to do."

Hermione shook her head with a squeak. No way – no way she could do that; she couldn't slip into the steaming bath, floating amongst the bubbles knowing that a mere _corner_ separated her from a naked, sudsy Severus Snape.

The thought alone made her mouth water and her cheeks flame.

"I apologise for having interrupted your evening," he said evenly, bending to gather his own things. Even in a simple robe and holding a towel, he managed grace and formality. Next to him, she felt awkward, gawkish.

"Youdon'thavetogo," she rushed out, all together. That earned her a curious eyebrow. "I mean, I can go. Myrtle's not in _my_ lavatory, after all – I can use my tub. It's not like I need a bath, I just... like to relax in here, and one week missed for a friend's comfort isn't a hardship."

Those wicked lips tilted in his almost-smile. "I admit, I find it easy to forget you consider us friends."

"And you don't?" she asked, surprised by her own audacity. He didn't answer, just gave her that same look she'd been trying to decipher for eighteen months now. A noise across the bath drew their attention – the stained glass was moving, making a soft sigh of sound.

"Bloody hell, no you don't," Severus snapped, but the reeds and seaweed of the glass shifted slowly, almost hypnotically.

"I can hear the ocean," Hermione said quietly. "Listen, Severus – it's the ocean."

"Hermione, quick, the door -" He pushed past her, but it was too late, and it locked audibly. He covered his ears with his hands, towel falling. "Damn it, woman, don't you have a lick of sense?"

"Hmm?" Distracted by the sound of wind in the reeds, the rhythm of waves, she looked away from the approaching figure in the stained glass to him.

"Didn't read the part about the windows, did you?" he asked sourly, hands still over his ears. "Cover your ears before the tart starts to sing, Hermione."

"What tart?" As if in answer, the seaweed parted, and there she was – curvy, voluptuous, gorgeous, stunning, every word Hermione had heard applied to women other than her definitely applied to the siren who gave the two of them a sultry, calculating look. Her lips parted, and Severus growled, slamming his hands over her ears instead as the siren began to sing.

Startled, Hermione dropped everything – towel, shower kit, everything. The sound of the song was muffled by his hands, and he gritted his teeth in something close to pain.

"Severus? What's happening?"

"Meddling," he ground out. "The castle wants to meddle – hasn't happened in about three hundred years or so, but, there you have it."

"Is Occlumency going to help?" she asked, seeing how remote his eyes were.

"With any amount of luck."

Cautiously, Hermione brought her own hands up to cover his ears. He gave her an indecipherable look, and she smiled at him, shrugging slightly.

"Now what happens?" The siren let out an angry wail and they jumped apart – which had been just what she was waiting for, because she burst back into song.

Hermione sighed softly as the bathroom took on a dreamy quality. She wanted to dance, and her arms lifted – any other time she would have felt stupid, dancing with an imaginary partner, but not now. She should have felt ungainly, stepping across the tiles to the rhythm of the waves and reeds, but it was...freeing.

"Get a hold of yourself," Severus hissed in her ear, grasping her wrists. She stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. Long fingers dug into her skin and he grimaced, fighting whatever urge was upon him. "Hermione..."

It was a plea, so she twisted in his grip to face him.

"It's alright, Severus – it's just dancing." She smiled at him, sliding her arms down until her hands were in his. He inhaled sharply, and there was that look again. Hermione led; a waltz suited her, the first dance she'd learned.

He was graceful, and she thrilled to be so close yet so far from him. The waltz was a subtle torment for her; Severus's warmth was right there, their arms touching, his hand on her waist, burning through her robes, her chest occasionally brushing his, but he was still miles away.

They swayed, they twirled, a waltz of yearning that felt so delicate that she feared she was dreaming this. As if afraid he'd melt away, Hermione gathered her fingers in the folds of his robe on his arm. She had him here, and she didn't want to lose him, didn't want this to end. At least she could blame her folly on the siren, rather than her own fervent desires.

He made her want to beg for his attention, to be worthy of his heart. She admired him, his mind, his very soul... everything she knew about him enamored her, and she knew him so very well indeed by now. So she waited for his attention to turn to her as it inevitably would, and she would find him watching her with those unfathomable eyes of his, but could never figure why.

Damn his eyes. His beautiful eyes as black as his hair; they pierced her as the siren's song sped up and his hand on her waist moved, pulling her flush against him.

Oh, god, it was a tango. Those lips curved in a wicked smirk as he led now, warm and possessive across the tiles. The song was almost a crescendo, burning through her. She hadn't known he could dance so well, and she hadn't danced since the summer after her fourth year, inspired by the near-success at the ball. She'd been passable, at best.

He was passion incarnate, his movements swift and precise. He stalked her like she was prey upon her release, his robe flaring behind him. The dance made her feel empowered. Bold. Desired. When he pulled her near, she pressed closer, her lips almost touching his, her hands running up his arms. His nostrils flared and Severus pursued her in the dance.

It was exhilarating, dancing with him, her body tense and quivering, singing with longing and pent-up desire. She was flushed, panting, and his eyes were bright and intense. He pushed her against the wall in victory, the long line of his body against hers. Her eyes flew to his – she could feel the length of him and hardly dared to breathe despite the exertion.

Her tongue wet her lips nervously and he groaned, riveted to the movement.

"Hermione..." her name was uttered in that smooth voice, shaped with those wicked, wicked lips. His face dipped closer, so close the curve of his nose brushed her cheek.

"Yes?" she asked breathlessly. Every nerve was singing, on edge. So close, he was so close...

"She stopped singing several minutes ago." His voice was warm and quiet, smooth and dark, and she could listen to him forever.

"Yes."

"Yes?" That look was back in his eyes, and his tone was almost a plea.

"_Yes_." Brazen, she lifted her chin and kissed him. His lips were warm and firm, and her heart skipped a giddy beat. She was kissing him! It may be the last time, for surely any moment now he'd pull away and storm off...Severus made a strange sound in his throat, and she steeled herself for rejection, for the verbal evisceration. It didn't come, he just... let her kiss him. Sighing softly, she moved her hands to his jaw, cupping it and kissing him again.

He was kissing her back! Hermione could feel his pulse under her fingertips as she brushed along his neck, the quick thud-thud-thud reassuring. She licked her lips and he cupped the back of her head, chasing her tongue back into her mouth.

_Oh,_ _god. _He tasted divine, man and mint. He tasted her, plundered her, and her nails dug into his shoulders. He was a fabulous kisser, the way he held her tightly against him, the way he swallowed her moans of pleasure, the way his nose rested against her cheek – even the slight scratch of the day's stubble spurred her on.

"Dance with me," he rasped when he finally drew back for air. Yes, dancing, dancing was safe. They moved away from the wall, swaying together. She'd wanted to kiss him for so long – his mouth fascinated her. She knew every twitch, every curve, of his lips, knew the way he'd shape the syllables of her name...and now she knew what they tasted like, felt like.

Severus's free hand roamed her back, keeping her flush against him, and he kissed his way to her ear. She could have melted; instead, she gathered handfuls of his robe to keep herself upright as he licked the shell of her ear, teeth sinking into the lobe. Hermione hadn't known she could make that noise as he suckled behind her ear, her hips jerking into his.

He moaned, low and lovely, vibrating down her spine and heat pooled in her core. Still he swayed with her to music that no longer existed, lips on her skin, and she twisted her neck so she could return the favor. The sharp inhalation as she traced the scarring with her lips was a reward, as was the slight tremble of his arms. When she added the touch of her tongue, her hands moving to part his robe and touch his bare chest, he panted, crushing her to him.

Worried she'd done something wrong, she stilled her movements.

"Don't stop," he groaned. "Please, Hermione, touch me...I've wanted you for so long. Please, touch me..."

"Me, too," she whispered into his ear. He relaxed his grip and she was able to stroke his skin now, the crisp feel of his chest hair under her fingers, hiding a few faint scars. "If I'd known you wanted me, Severus, I would have been yours a long time ago."

Her fingers found his nipples, copper-brown against his pale skin. He shuddered, his own hands moving to the tie of her robe. Hermione's mouth dried as he tugged on the knot, regretting that she wore a nightgown underneath. Granted, it had a low neckline, but she'd rather be naked like in her fantasies.

That didn't stop him from dipping her suddenly, one arm an iron band around her, supporting her, and he kissed and licked and sucked from her neck to collarbone. Severus didn't stop there, letting her raise a leg, wrapping it around him for balance, and he tugged on her nightgown, exposing a breast.

"Merlin, yes," he murmured. "You're as lovely as I dreamed, Hermione..."

Uneven teeth sank into the swell of her breast and she moaned. Oh, god, she'd wanted this, dreamt this, and it was better than any book or imagination. How he could still sway them, rock them, while holding her was beyond comprehension – a spell? She hadn't seen his wand, but that had never stopped him in the past. Or was he really that strong? Hermione wanted his robes off, and she wanted them off now.

But then his mouth found her nipple, and she forget about wandless magic, focusing instead on the warmth of his mouth, the pull of his suckling, the way he flicked his tongue until it pebbled under his ministrations. Every pull of his teeth made her throb with want.

"Severus," she moaned, tugging on his robe. "Off, please..."

"Are you a witch or aren't you?" he rumbled, moving from one breast to the other. Oh, _god_ his fingers were talented, the way they pinched and tugged on the nipple he'd abandoned.

"Wandless magic requires _focus_," Hermione managed. His arm was trembling. "Severus...let go so I can take this all off."

_That_ got his attention and he nearly dropped her as he straightened, backing away from her and pushing off his own robe. The sheer lust in his eyes, the vulnerability in his stance, set her heart to thrumming under her skin. He spun her back to him, hands skimming over her collarbones to the lapels of her robe. It puddled at her feet, and Hermione moved away to stare at him, toying with the hem of her nightgown.

He was gorgeous, all lean lines, hard angles, and pale skin. Even his scars were silvered; the copper of his nipples, hard and begging for her mouth. At the base of his throat she could see his pulse and longed to kiss it. Black hair fell from scalp to shoulders, shiny as always, and the sparser hair on his torso masked a firm chest, trailing down his soft belly to below his trouser line.

Hermione licked her lips. God, she wanted him, and now wanted to rest her head on his stomach and play with the length she could see pressing against his trouser front. Holding his gaze, knowing her cheeks were darkening, she pulled the nightgown off, tossing it over her head, uncaring where it ended up. She offered him a shy smile – she'd forgone shoes and undergarments this evening.

All her days, she'd treasure the sight before her – Severus Snape, his cheeks tinged a soft pink, lips slightly parted and staring at her in awe.

Sinking her teeth into her lower lip nervously, Hermione moved closer, almost mimicking his earlier stalk of the tango. He raised long nimble fingers to his belt, watching her. Could he see her desire for him? Leather slithered through cotton, metal clinked on the stone floor. Even his cock was beautiful, unsuppressed by cloth.

Severus stepped out of both pants and trousers, tossing them aside. "Come here, Hermione."

Taking his outstretched hand, she allowed him to pull her against him, moaning at the feel of him, all of him against her.

"If I'm dreaming again, don't wake me," she whispered, memorising his face. She loved his nose, the way his nostrils flared to take in the scent of her perfume. She loved the arch of his brow – how he managed such eloquence was beyond her. She loved his sneer, his biting wit, his intellect, everything about him. He was the most beautiful man in the world to her.

"If you are dreaming, so must I be; I could not do you justice," he replied quietly. His words rumbled in his chest, she could feel each word he spoke and it made her stomach tighten. "You are beautiful, Hermione... would you like to dance?"

The last was asked with such sweet hesitation that she accepted immediately by kissing him hungrily. She never wanted him to doubt that she would always choose him as a partner, that she wanted him. Somehow they moved from standing to him over her, their mouths pressed together. He breathed in each of her moans as he ran the same callused fingers she'd long-admired over her breasts and stomach and down to where she longed for him to be.

"I can feel your heartbeat," he said in a silken tone, finding the little bundle of nerves and pressing against it. Hermione whimpered, tugging on his hair, urging him to suckle her breasts. He did, fingers swirling below, dancing over her clit until she was panting, arching her back and moaning while he undid her with teeth and tongue.

"Oh, god," she whimpered, hips moving jerkily. She could feel him hard and hot against her thigh, and wanted him inside her. She didn't care if the siren came back and sang, the only dance she wanted to do now was the one where they both came to completion.

"Not a god," he growled, lifting his head. His eyes glittered, black and dangerous. Moving himself between her legs he slid his fingers inside, unerringly locating the spot that stole every rational thought.

"Say my name," he purred. "I've wanted this for so long, love, say my name...that's a good girl, Hermione, come for me..."

"Severus," she keened, riveted to his face, the smug awe as everything became fire and her world narrowed to the motion of those two fingers stretching her, crooking against that spot; another sly finger brushing tantalizingly over her other entrance, and - "There, there, right there, don't stop Severus, oh, please don't stop, oh! _Severus!_"

She arched, toes curling, fingernails biting into her palms. She hadn't come so hard in months, and he'd tipped her over so quickly, so easily...She was still throbbing when he removed his fingers. Before the sound of loss left her lips he'd replaced them with his cock.

"So tight," he moaned, stroking into her slowly. "So wet, Hermione..."

Taking deep shuddering breaths through the remnants of her orgasm, she watched him as he moved deeper. The unguarded look of lust and love on his face cemented itself into her heart and she raised her legs to his hips. He felt perfect inside of her – so wonderful, better than she could have ever imagined. Thick, hard – he fit her so well she could feel him twitch as she throbbed.

"Move, please, love," she begged, running her hands over his arms. He looked like he wanted to protest, to savor the moment, but she lifted and dropped her hips. Severus's mouth shut, teeth clicking audibly.

Hermione wondered what she looked like, hair fanned out across the floor, flushed from orgasm, begging for him to make love to her. During sex, she usually couldn't stop thinking, wondering about her hands, or if she was doing it right, but as soon as Severus pushed back in, quickly finding a rhythm and angle to suit them both, thought dissolved.

All that mattered was the check of his body against hers, the slap of flesh on flesh. A high-pitched sob echoed in the room, and it was hers. He reared above her, his hands seeking and finding hers, entwining and clutching as he moved.

His eyes bore into hers and he panted her name, his emotions naked on his face. It was the look he'd been giving her for months, only unguarded, and it struck at her very soul as she realised what it meant.

"I love you," she blurted, the admission torn from her as his slammed into her. "I love you, I love you, I love you -"

Severus leaned down and silenced her with a brief, hard kiss. "And I you..."

Hermione lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, nearly sobbing. So close, so close, she was so close to coming again. She'd never come during sex before and the feel of it cresting within her was terrifying and she didn't know how to let the waves take her.

"Merlin, yes, so tight, Hermione, you're close, aren't you? Come on," he growled, the look on his face determined, cords on his neck standing out, skin flushed, his arms trembling. His voice was rough with passion, filled with pent-up need, and his pelvis slapped against her clit with every hard thrust. "I'm going to make you come for me; come on my cock, witch, scream my name, claim me as yours – you're mine, you're mine, you're mine, and I'm yours, Hermione...Scream. My. Name!"

If his filthy words hadn't been enough to tip her over, the last, punctuated with the rhythm of his thrusts, undid her. Hermione screamed his name, reverberating off the tiles. A rushing filled her ears, white noise and she nearly rose off the floor, keening, crying, calling out for Severus as he remade her, filling her with his own fire, her own name a roar torn from his lips. She sobbed as he rocked into her slowly, hips jerking against her.

He crooned her name into her ear as she wept, complete at last. She could feel his heart against his ribs and they drew gasping breaths, pressed together, his weight pleasant and warm.

"I've got you." He nuzzled her neck, lapping sweat from her skin. "Shh, it's alright..."

"Yours," she murmured brokenly, holding him down to her.

"Yes," he agreed. "All yours."

It was some time before either could move, and she mewled with loss when he softened and slipped from her. He gave a strangled laugh in response, falling beside her and gathering her to him, tangling a hand in her curls. "Later."

"Mmm." Hermione nuzzled his chest. The stone floor was cold and uncomfortable, but she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

"Severus?" He sighed.

"Always with the questions."

She smiled, kissing his skin. "Do you still want to bathe?"

He was quiet for a long while. "In a bit."

"Thank you." She felt more than saw the twitch of a smile on his lips as he pressed them to her head. "It's...been a very long time for me, and you were..wonderful. Perfect."

Severus hummed appreciatively. "And for me."

"How long?" She hated herself for asking.

"You would ask that..." He idly stroked her side. "Forty-four years, give or take a term."

Hermione blinked. Well, that was a surprise; the man was incredible, and him sharing such private information with her spoke volumes. Reluctant to put her foot in her mouth over it, she kissed his chest again.

The bathroom was quiet except for their breathing; no siren song, no music. A smile curved her lips. He was a marvelous dancing partner.

"Alright." Severus sighed, pulling away. "If we do not rise now, they will inevitably find our worn and decrepit bodies in the morning." He levered himself to his feet, graceful despite his nudity, and assisted her as well.

"Would you like to bathe together?" Hermione offered.

"You blush, after all that?" He gave her a supercilious look.

"Well...yes?"

He shook his head, hair more lank than it had been; she took an absurd pride in being the one to make it that way. "Interesting choice of bathing paraphernalia, Hermione..."

_Oh_, _no_. She squeaked in dismay, following his gaze. Her shower kit had indeed opened when it fell, sending soap and shampoo and razor skittering about – including the dildo she'd intended to use to pleasure herself with "- to thoughts of me?"

"Cheater." The blush was back, full-force, but he was quicker than she to block her escape.

"No, you don't," he purred lasciviously. "No embarrassment, Hermione...besides, I can think of several uses for this. I think you'll find I am very, very inventive."

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The end.

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are, as always, appreciated. ;)


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